by Gina Azzi
It's nearly dusk by the time I park. Taylor shifts next to me, her nose wrinkling, and the softest sounding snore escapes her nose. She's adorable. So much so that I sit and stare at her for several moments, memorizing the lines of her face and the curve of her lips.
Reaching out, I cup her knee and give it a gentle shake.
"Taylor?"
Nothing.
"Taylor?"
"Mmm."
"We're here."
"Where?"
"The place I wanted to show you."
Her eyes flutter open, and she stares at me. Her eyes are glazed like she isn't sure if she's still dreaming or really wake. "Where's that?"
"Look." I point to the windshield, and she turns her head, a gasp catching in her throat.
Her skin and hair are bathed in the pinks and oranges of sunset. Her eyes are wide, remnants of sleep still clinging to them. "Is it real?"
I chuckle, sliding my hand up until it catches her fingers. "Very real."
She turns to me then, and a blush works its way up her cheeks. She ducks her head. "Sorry I fell asleep."
"I'm glad you got some rest. You need it."
"Do you come here often?" She tilts her head toward the windshield, where the lighthouse rises from the sea like a pillar of strength, a testament to history.
"When I need to think," I admit.
"What do you need to think about?"
"Lots of stuff." I shrug, but really, I need to figure out how the hell I'm going to pay the utility bills this month. Dad’s comment about keeping the lights on struck a nerve, which I’m sure is why he said it. Between his phone call and Texas Ink’s message about the poker guy not paying up, I’m growing antsy, sensing that something is coming but not able to figure out what the something is.
"It's beautiful. The pinks and purples. The oranges and yellows. I haven’t been here in ages."
"It's something," I agree, squeezing her fingers in mine. "Are you up for a short walk? Grab an ice cream?"
She nods, beaming, as if I just asked her to accompany me to Paris, on a private plane. "I'd love to."
"Okay." I drop her fingers, and we both get out of the SUV, meeting at the back.
We begin to walk, my scuffed sneakers kicking at stray pebbles. Beside me, Taylor moves slowly, her steps small and cautious. Instead of watching her feet, she keeps her face turned upward like she’s telling the sky a secret. She's different than any woman I've ever met, and most of the time, I'm not sure what to do with the feelings surging through me when I'm around her.
"So, how's it going?" She bumps her shoulder against my arm playfully. I’m glad to see her energy is back and she seems much better than she did just hours before.
"It's going," I admit, thinking about all the hours I need to log this week at Cork’s if I’m going to make our bill payments on time. Den’s been working more as well and between the two of us, we’re barely covering basic expenses. I know if we let on how tight things are to Jax, he’d want to pitch in but we both agreed it’s not fair to him when he and Evie are moving to San Antonio. "What about you?"
She sighs next to me. "Can I tell you a secret?"
I almost trip at her words, suddenly nervous where this conversation is leading. "Sure. Just nothing that will land me in a prison cell," I joke but really, I could end up there all on my own.
She smacks my arm lightly, and the usual jolt that consumes me at her touch zips through my limbs, causing my blood to heat up. "It's not particularly scandalous."
"Oh, well, now I'm not so sure if I'm interested."
She laughs next to me, tucking her hair behind her ears and dipping her head.
"I'm kidding. Tell me." I run my fingertips down the inside of her wrist until I can clutch her fingers in mine. I don't know what it is about Taylor, but I want her to always feel secure and reassured in my presence. I want her to always be relaxed and herself when she's with me. Seeing the tiredness that hugs her irises, the bluish half-moons pressed under her eyelashes, causes something in my chest to feel funny. The protectiveness I've always felt toward women, any woman, triples when I'm around her.
“I’m thinking of making a career change.”
“A career-change? Over the whole modeling thing?” A lump forms in my throat as I automatically worry what role the accident played in her new life plan.
She shrugs. “Maybe. I don’t know. I love modeling and I’ve done it for a long time and my career was really starting to take off when everything happened.” She gestures toward her foot and I wince. “But now, I’m just not so sure. The accident really made me think. Modeling isn’t something I can do forever anyway, and I don’t have a back-up plan or something else in place that I would do professionally.”
I nod, understanding her point. I guess modeling isn’t really a forever career choice. But then again, neither is MC gofer. Or server at Cork’s Wine Bar. What the hell is my plan going forward? What am I going to do professionally for the rest of my life? “What are you thinking?” I ask her instead of focusing on my lack of life goals.
"I want to be a teacher," she whispers, and I have to lean closer to catch the words.
"A teacher?" I repeat, turning toward her. I can totally see it. Taylor would be an amazing teacher. Just seeing the way she is with Marco and Ria, how she cares about them, engages them, I can tell working with kids is a passion for her. "You would be an incredible teacher," I tell her honestly.
She colors from my praise, and I tug her fingers gently. This woman has her photo shown to millions of people through magazine ads and billboards and in gossip columns. She's a complete attention grabber. And yet, she's so modest and humble. Everything she does surprises me.
"You think so?"
"Are you kidding me? With the way you love reading and literature? With how much you care about Ria and Marco and the other kids at Big Brothers and Big Sisters? I would say teaching could be your natural calling.”
“Do you really think so?”
“Yeah.”
"I'd have to go back to school."
"So? Lots of people do career changes that cross over to new industries and need to have new degrees or certification in order to do them. Evie majored in psychology but wants to be a physical therapist. She’s starting over again at Baylor in the fall."
Taylor nods. “I started looking into a few programs in Georgia.”
“That’s great.”
“Thanks.” She says shyly, shaking her head. “It’s weird, you know? I haven’t told anyone else about this, not even Ria. But for some reason, I felt like you wouldn’t judge me for it.”
“Why would anyone judge you for following a new passion? For making sure you have a way to support yourself in the future?”
She shrugs, her eyes looking into the distance, unfocused, as if her mind is somewhere else.
"Just for the record, I would love it if you were my teacher.”
She snorts.
"At any age. At every age."
The sound of her laughter is warm and genuine. "Stop." She pulls my hand, and I step toward her.
"You would want to teach literature?" I guess.
She nods. "High school."
"Ah, forget it. Everyone, and I mean everyone, is going to sign up for your class if it's high school."
She rolls her eyes at me.
"You should do it," I tell her, bringing her closer so I can tuck her frame under my arm. "You should do whatever it is that's going to make you feel excited and inspired and eager to go to work each day. If that's still modeling, cool. If it's something else, then it's something else. You don’t have to do one thing forever.”
"We’ll see what happens. What about you?" she asks.
"What about me?"
"What makes you excited and inspired and eager?"
I shake my head, a million thoughts ping-ponging around my brain. A long time ago, I thought I'd play baseball professionally, but that thought quickly deteriorated when it became clear that someone had
to raise Daisy. Lucky for me, an injury to my rotator cuff made a full college scholarship unlikely, which eased my disappointment. By then, I sort of fell into the work Dad and the MC set up for me, and I never really gave my future too much consideration. But if I could do anything, be anyone, what would I do? What is the type of career I would want to pursue?
Taylor looks at me quizzically, waiting for a response.
The ice cream shop comes into view, saving me from answering, and I hold the door open in my best gentlemanly manner. "After you, Ms. Clarke."
16
Taylor
The sweet vanilla ice cream tastes heavenly as Carter and I sit at a picnic table just outside the ice cream shop's entrance. "This is really good." I take another bite.
"Yeah, I think ice cream always tastes better by the beach," Carter replies, reaching out to swipe his finger across the corner of my mouth, catching a drop of vanilla. My skin heats like a flame under his touch and I blush.
He watches me curiously for several seconds. My heart beats faster at the attention, and my skin warms, despite the cold ice cream. "What?"
"You sure you're single?" His voice wavers as he asks the question. The fact that he seems nervous is adorable, and I bite my lip to keep from smiling.
"Yes."
He smirks and shakes his head as he takes a big bite of his chocolate peanut butter ice cream.
"Are you?" I ask after the moment of silence stretches too long. Nerves skate up my arms at the thought. What if he has a girlfriend? Or a go-to girl? Or whatever the hell non-label that's trending this week?
"Yes." He snorts lightly.
"What?"
"Nothing." He angles his body toward me, shifting to straddle the picnic bench, his knee bouncing up and down. "I don't really do the girlfriend thing."
I raise my eyebrows.
"Not like my brothers. Jax has been sweet on Evie since they were in high school and Den," he says, shaking his head and chuckling at a memory, "Den does his own thing, but he's had a few serious relationships over the years."
"What happened?"
"I'm not sure, but I'd bet Den mucked it all up somehow," he says, chuckling again at whatever memory the mention of his brother's romantic life conjures.
The affection he shows when speaking about his family warms my heart and the yearning for a sibling, for someone, flares up inside me. I always wanted a sister. Or anyone, really.
"And your sister?" I ask.
"Daisy. She's the baby. No serious relationships that I know of but that’s not saying much as she’s been away at college the past four years. Just graduated from Arizona State University," he says this proudly, turning his head to peer at me. "She's the first in our family to graduate college, so it was a pretty big deal."
I grin back at him. "You all must be super proud."
"You have no idea."
"Did you guys throw a party?"
He shakes his head, his expression darkening. “No. But we should have. We surprised her though, showed up at her graduation.”
“I bet she loved that.”
He nods.
“Did your dad reach out to her?” I ask gently.
He jerks at the question and immediately, I wish I hadn’t asked it. I know he isn’t on great terms with his dad, but wouldn’t the guy be proud that his daughter graduated college?
I reach out hesitantly and place my palm over the back of his hand lying on the table between us. The heat of his skin warms my cold fingers, and after a beat, he flips his hand over, lacing our fingers together and squeezing lightly. It's the simplest gesture, yet it sets my heart galloping in my chest. The action, coupled with the conversation, is like he's opening up to me, letting me in, in a way that hints at more than just friendship.
"My dad's a scumbag," he says finally, answering the question between us that I daren't ask.
I squeeze his hand back.
"He's in jail for possession with intent to distribute. Cocaine. Plus, gun trafficking. He was an officer in the Devil's Shadow MC."
A gasp falls from my lips, and my cheeks blaze as embarrassment washes over me for my reaction.
Carter glances at me from the corner of his eye. "It's okay. It's a normal reaction. I'd be more concerned if you didn't say anything."
"Do you talk to him?"
His jaw ticks before I even finish the question, his mouth pulling taut, and his eyebrows dipping dangerously low over his eyes. He nods once, the movement crisp.
"That must be tough on you all. Keeping in touch with him when things could have been different."
He sighs, untangling his fingers from mine and rubbing at the center of his forehead. "I'm the only one who still speaks to him."
"Oh."
"And my brothers and Daisy don't know."
I swallow, absorbing that information. "Why?"
"Because it would destroy them."
"But you miss your dad?"
He laughs, the sound jarring in the peaceful quiet of sunset by the beach. "I hate my father."
"Then why do you keep in touch?"
"Because the things his MC would do would destroy them, too." He sighs heavily. "I’m in the process of cutting ties. No one knows we still speak." He looks at me again, and the severity of his expression alerts me that he's really confiding in me. He's trusting me with something that could hurt his family. He trusts me.
"I won't tell anyone."
He reaches over again, his hand resting on my thigh. His fingers apply the gentlest pressure. "I know, babe. But you won't ever understand either."
I open my mouth to refute that but then snap it shut. Would I ever understand? Probably not. I think of Daddy and Mom and our gigantic house, sitting at the long table for dinner each night and never having to worry about things like money or education or really, anything. I've never wanted for anything or needed anything I didn't receive. I have no clue what it's like to have to do things for survival or for family. The accident was the first real setback I’ve ever faced in my life and the fallout from it has rocked my world in ways I never imagined. Glancing at Carter’s profile, the tight pull of his brows, the way he chews the corner of his mouth when he’s thinking or pinches the bridge of his nose when he’s overwhelmed, I realize just how sheltered I’ve been.
He looks at me then and smiles, his whole face opening, his eyes brightening. I don’t want to keep living this closed-off, sheltered life. Not when I could be living more fully. Carter’s probably lived three lifetimes to my one.
"You're right, I probably won't understand. The closest thing for me would be having to go to charity events and galas with Barrington Wade because of his business relationship with my father. Because of the gambling. And that’s definitely not the same thing."
Carter looks up from his ice cream, his eyes boring into mine. "That’s been bothering me.”
“What has?”
“The picture. The one in the paper.” He squints out into the distance, as if recalling the newspaper photo. “Your body was so rigid, as if you were trying to turn away from him. As if you don’t like him, didn’t want him to kiss you. You don't want to go to those events and fancy parties with him, do you?"
"No. I hated it when he kissed me. Barrington’s awful. Makes me uncomfortable."
"Uncomfortable how?" Carter’s grip tightens on my thigh, and I look at him, noting the blaze of anger in his eyes.
“Just nervous. I can’t figure him out and sometimes being with him puts me on edge.”
“Has he ever hurt you?”
“No. Of course not.”
“I’m serious, Taylor.”
“So am I. He just unnerves me is all. But it doesn’t matter. I told Daddy last night that I’m never going to another event with him, so it’s done.”
Carter sighs next to me, his shoulders relaxing, as if in relief. “Good. If he ever hurts you, threatens you, anything, you can tell me, yeah?”
I squeeze his wrist gently, letting him know I appreciate his co
ncern. “Yeah.”
“Okay.” Carter's eyes soften and he reaches up, his hand leaving my thigh to cup the back of my neck. He brings me closer until our foreheads touch, our melting ice creams forgotten. His touch is tender, but his eyes are intense, smoldering with unsaid words, with shared understanding.
He rocks his forehead gently against mine, his eyes closing for a beat. I swallow, my stomach suddenly rising to my throat and dropping to my toes. Carter's hold on the back of my neck roots me to the moment, his warm breath washing over my mouth and luring me closer. His eyes open, and the sea-foam green is hypnotizing. My breathing intensifies; my heart practically convulses in my chest. It's beating so loud, I'm certain he can hear it, but he continues to watch me, letting the tension between us build.
My tongue darts out, hitting the center of my bottom lip, and I taste the vanilla ice cream. Carter groans as he grips the back of my neck, and then his lips are on mine. I feel a sweet pressure that quickly turns hungry. My ice cream melts down my wrist, and I drop the cone under the picnic table, unable to concentrate on anything except for the feel of Carter's mouth moving against mine.
He nips at my lower lip, and I part my lips, granting him access to my mouth. His tongue dips inside slowly, torturing me before twisting with mine. His fingers thread through my hair at the base of my neck and hold my head steady. He slants his mouth, shifting forward on the picnic bench and sliding me toward him until I'm tucked in between his thighs.
My hands cup his cheeks, the sharp stubble rubbing against my palms. I pull him closer, drawing him in. I feel the heat of his tongue, the graze of his stubble against my cheek, and the tug of his fingers in my hair.
And then, it happens.
I free fall.
Utterly and perfectly.
Until everything disappears. Except for him.